To Go, Or Not To Go

That is the question of the hour. And I believe my final answer is ...

Not to go.

I fear this makes me a pansy, but being a self-loathing quitter sounds ever-so-slightly more appealing that being an anxious, drug-less, pregnant traveler. And because Dad gave me a kind out, I am taking the $440 airline ticket hit and opting not to visit my brother in Block Island, my girlfriends in New York, my grandmother in Baltimore, and my extended family in Hilton Head. Does this make me a bad person? Probably. But is there a chance it makes me a wise baby-grower? Possibly.

I just don't feel up to it. I never have liked the actual "traveling" part of travel, and for 15 years I have had the wonderful best friend and crutch of Xanax or Clonopin. Only now, because of the little bean, I've got nothing. Not Xanax, not a drink, nothing. Not even my husband, who I have to leave at home for two weeks while I suffer from pre-partum separation anxiety. (Sidenote: I Googled separation anxiety, and supposedly it's a natural and normal developmental stage for young children, and then an unnatural disorder in older children. There is no DSM-IV mention of adults. Fine, I'll invent the thing).

But really, I've spent most of the last several weeks feeling like crap and glued to my one spot on the couch. Of course, there are times every single day when I feel fine. I'm able to socialize, grocery shop, or just do something fun. But those days are nearly always punctuated with "I don't feel good" complaints and the need to be taken care of, at my spot on the couch, by my loving husband. And then there are the occasional night sweats, bad dreams, and middle of the night anxiety, which are uncomfortable and difficult to quell. And there's the fatigue and random diarrhea, which is never fun in the public domain.

Making decisions that impact others has never been easy for me. I'm very decisive when it comes to choosing a dinner option from the menu, planning for a client, or picking a movie. But when I've already made a decision, essentially made plans and given my word, I have a horrible time going back on that. In cases like these, I seek the advice (read: validation) from people I love and respect.

My dad told me, "If you're not up to going, just don't go. You will be missed, but it's probably not worth the stress ... Plus, if they put you in a straight-jacket and sedate you on the plane, those drugs are probably worse for the baby than Xanax." Good point, Dad, well said. No one wants to be restrained in the air for 'suspicious behavior,' otherwise known as having a panic attack.

Alex said, "But what about your brother? He'll be so bummed. And your grandma? What if it's the last time you are able to see her? I think you'll be fine. You're strong and you can do it." Wrong answer. He re-evaluates. "Actually, I think you should stay here. Your number one priority is taking care of yourself and that fetus. And I would miss you too much."

Paul and Chris advised, "If I could, I would forbid you from going. Stress is not good for the baby. Plus, what if something bad happened? You would forever wonder if you shouldn't have gone on a long trip."

Rachel said, "Well, what do you really want to do? Is it worth it? Will you be more uncomfortable if you change plans and stay home? Or if you go and visit everyone for two weeks?"

So I recognize that a million other pregnant women have flown in airplanes, been away from home for extended periods of time, and survived just fine with beautiful babies to boot. But I would guess that most women don't do a whole lot of things that fall outside their comfort zone while pregnant. And this, my friends and family, is too far outside my comfort zone. With no crutch or cushion when I fall. And because of that, I apologize for my last-minute plan change, but am sticking to my guns. I have someone else I have to think of right now - me and the baby.